Paradisiacal
by Collie Parkillo
Summary: Paradise has never been real, but the paradises they saw in each other always have been. Collection of Lord of the Flies pairings, ranging from semi-canonical to crack. /Updated only very sporadically.
1. Roger and Simon

**Author's note: I love Lord of the Flies. I am not ashamed to admit that. So, since I haven't been on FFN for awhile, I thought it fitting that my first fanfiction would be a Lord of the Flies one. I suppose that I'm out of practice with writing fanfics, so this may be a tad on the terrible side, but oh well.**

**Disclaimer: Do I look like William Golding to you? Actually, don't answer that. But my point is, I don't own Lord of the Flies or any characters associated it**

_One: Roger and Simon _

It is a firmly established fact that I am batty

And perhaps that is why I have decided to sit down with Roger. Dark, moody Roger who occasionally yells unpleasant words at people he dislikes and could easily cause me a great amount of pain. Although he is dark and moody, he has a certain...alluring feel about him that I can't quite place.

That aside, I felt myself shiver when I sat down with this brooding, easily annoyed boy, on a moving, flying vehicle with a boy who probably has some desire to hurt me. There are countless ways he could hurt me here, and not just physically. I tend to sweat and get all red in the face on aeroplanes. God. Why did I do this?

As the plane begins to slowly pick up speed, I feel my stomach turning within me, and beads of sweat begin to form on my forehead. The world is moving and spinning and I'm going to faint, oh, I can't do that, not now! My hand feels around for something to grab, I just need some support oh god, oh god, oh god, the world won't stop spinning...

My hand eventually finds something hard to hold onto, although I'm not entirely sure what it is. The world stops, but then all the noise pours out of my ears, replaced by a throbbing, ringing sound, and I let a small squeal escape me in place of a scream. I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping that the darkness will replace all the _noise._

I just stay there like that for I don't know how long, hand gripping onto something unknown, eyes locked shut, panting loudly and attempting to breathe in and breathe out how my mother always told me to do whenever I felt faint.

Gradually, the noise subsided to the normal things, and I could hear my own breathing, a cacophony of _hmm-ha _that I'm surprised nobody complained about. As I look around me, collecting myself from that little...episode, I hear Roger's sharp, accented voice. "Let go of my arm, Simon!"

I immediately feel my cheeks become warm. "Er...sorry."

"S'fine. Just let go of me." I do, and for the first time I realize how warm he was, the cold of the air inside the plane makes a sharp contrast. And why on earth didn't he complain earlier?

But I don't voice my suspicions. My heartbeat quickens, but I can't fathom why. "Roger?"

"What is it now?" He seems irritated, and I almost shrink back in my sleep.

"Why didn't you...remove my arm yourself earlier?" That is the only way I can phrase it, and it already sounds clunky and awkward.

He shrugs, and if Roger's pale, somewhat dirty face can blush, I swear that then it did. He doesn't appear to have anything to say about it, so I turn to look out the window, and then realize that I would have to lean over him to see properly. I feel that it would be better not to ask, so I-gradually, awkwardly-lean myself over Roger's legs and stare out at the sky. "Um, excuse me," is the best I can muster.

Irritation flashes across his face again. "Keep your hands to yourself," he growls.

"I'm not touching you." It's not a lie.

"You're close enough." The strange thing is that he's not sounding entirely unhappy about the idea of my touching him. Sensing this, I gently place one hand on top of his, and shivers immediately rack my body. What sort of a punishment will this elicit? A punch? A curse?

Roger clenches one of his fists, but then unclenches it. He looks around, as if to see if anyone's watching, and interlaces his fingers with mine. Leaning over my seating companion's legs has become more than a bit awkward, so I pull back and instead settle for scooting myself a bit closer to him.

He still hasn't said anything against me, or spoken against me with his actions. I feel another tremor come through my body, and gently lower my head onto one of his shoulders.

_Now this, this may be the battiest thing I have ever done. I will surely be hit, punched, cursed at, or at least reprimanded._ But no. Nothing happens. Barely any reaction. He just looks down at me, as if acknowledging that I'm there, and nods, then continues staring off into space. Probably plotting some way to ruin my life once we're evacuated.

"Simon," he says, but then stops himself from finishing whatever it is. I hear a slight note rising in his throat, the beginning of the word _I. _But it never comes out, never leaves the inside of Roger's brain.

"What is it?"

"Nothing."

. . .

**Ok, there was my first fanfiction for about two years. Hope you enjoyed, and I'd love it if I could get some feedback on this. :)**


	2. Roger and Maurice

**Author's Note: Okay, here's another fic because I was feeling particularly inspired today. I have to say, I love this pairing a lot.** **Hope you enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: I promise, I'm not William Golding. I do not own Lord of the Flies or anyone in it.**

_Chapter two: Roger and Maurice_

"Hey, Roger, can I have some of that clay too?" Maurice leaned up against a palm tree, his mouse-brown hair gently blowing in the breeze. He smiled almost angelically, and looked down at Roger, who was digging around in the ground like a mole on speed.

"Sure, take all you want," said Roger in his usual growl. Honestly, did that boy have any other emotion other than moodiness?

Maurice knelt down next to him and began rubbing it unceremoniously on his face. The dark-haired, moody boy's facepaint made him look even darker and moodier, despite the fact that it was a warm, earthy brown. "Maurice, you don't just splatter your face with it, you know."

"How d'you put it on, then?" Maurice looked a bit like he'd just eaten a worm's intestines and then rubbed it on his face as a form of lotion.

Roger sighed exasperatedly. "I'll do it for you."

"Really?"

"Why would I have said I would if I wasn't going to?" He loathed it when people asked 'really?' after anything, it was as though they were just asking to be slapped in the face.

Maurice immediately went into 'excited little boy' mode. "'Cause you might not've meant it, you might've been just tryna mess with me!"

"Why would I do that?" Roger rolled his eyes. "Now wash off your face." He felt like he was ordering around a five-year-old. Maurice ran off to do so and Roger sat down. This was not going to be an easy task, mostly because Maurice had the attention span of a hamster and a bad habit of putting his hands on everything, like he was a kid in a museum and he just _had _to see how each and every exhibit felt. Roger's hair was a nice addition to this museum, and the feeling of dirty palms on his hair was not one that he enjoyed.

Maurice returned, smiling broadly, and sat down in front of Roger. He sighed, dipped one finger in the clay, and spread it under his eyes. "That tickles!" he yelped.

"Hold still." Maurice couldn't help but notice the dark brown color of Roger's eyes, almost like gigantic pools of chocolate. Gigantic, glaring pools of chocolate. The other boy's face was extremely close to his, and he couldn't help but blush when Roger smudged a large amount of clay onto the bridge of his nose.

"That tickles even more!" A bit of clay ran into his eyes and he blinked sharply. Unlike most normal people, Maurice didn't move back when he blinked, instead he moved forward. His forehead hit Roger's.

"Why can't you just _stay still?"_ The feeling of Maurice's face clashing with his was enough to make him turn a bright shade of pink. Thankfully, he was tan enough to conceal it and had a large amount of what could be considered warpaint on his face.

"I'm trying to! But you got it in my eye!" whined Maurice. Roger sighed exasperatedly once again and wiped some of the paint away from Maurice's eyes and almost smiled at the other boy's flabbergasted expression. His hand hovered on Maurice's forehead, and he gently brushed a bit of hair out of his eyes.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, Maurice finally said, "Hey, Roger, you gonna finish or what?" He smiled almost dumbly again.

Roger turned pink again. "Yeah, finishing. Right." He finished the clay on Maurice's cheeks and was about to draw away and continue brooding and stalking around the forest, looking for something to kill. Or perhaps watch the littluns and throw things at them.

But he didn't, he just froze there, hand on Maurice's cheek. "Uh, Roger? You there?"

"Yeah. Right here." Maurice's eyes were a surprising shade of blue, now evident against the dark clay paint all over his face. They were almost the same color as the ocean around the island, he realized, and almost smiled at such a stupid metaphor floating through his head.

He sharply pulled away from Maurice's face. "Thanks, Roger!" said Maurice brightly. "I bet I look totally wizard!" Roger blushed. God, what was wrong with him? He felt a sort of longing towards annoying, jumpy, mousy-haired Maurice, with his constant optimism.

Maurice was about to rush off to go hunt in the forest. "Maurice...want to go hunt with me?"

He looked up at Roger, grinning from ear to ear, and then said "Really?"

"Gah! I told you not to say really!"

"Really?"

Roger harrumphed loudly and grabbed the smaller boy's hand and began dragging him off into the forest. Maurice followed eagerly, and they both disappeared into the shadowy cover of the forest.

. . .

**Ok, I kind of ship everything in LOTF, so yeah, I ship both Roger/Simon and Roger/Maurice. Hope you enjoyed!**


	3. Ralph and Simon

**Author's Note: I was originally going to post this as a standalone fanfic but decided against it. It's like, wicked long because this is probably my OTP in LOTF. But anyways, enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Flies or anything associated with it.**

_Three: Ralph and Simon_

The night is my home.

Saying that would usually connote that I'm a criminal, or perhaps someone who doesn't want to be seen. But I want to be seen, oh, I so desperately want to be seen. And yet the night, where I am most concealed, is where I feel most at home. The air is cooler, my senses are stronger, and I am more alive at night. At night, I feel free of the trembling, batty boy I'm stuck inside in during daylight.

During the day, I have to follow Jack's rules, do what he wants, do what everyone wants. At night, I'm just Simon again. Not batty Simon or Simon who can't speak in front of other people. Just Simon. Free of the labyrinth of savagery being built around me, no longer a rat in a maze being hunted by an imaginary beast.

See, others try to put walls around me. In the scheme of things, we are all the same. There's no gender. No age. We're all the same being. The differences inside are what break us apart.

I have never felt these walls. And sometimes, sometimes I wish I would. I wish I could look at him and see a boy. Not just a boy, but a boy who probably has many he loves, and I am most likely not one of them.

His blonde hair, falling into his eyes because of how long it's become. His soft, gentle, but leaderly blue gaze. His skin, tan from being out in the sun so much. Funny how all the others are getting tan and I've remained paler than the sand on the beach. The first time I saw his face, suddenly I was reminded about everything I'll never have. Friends. Love. All that. I looked into his eyes and I wanted to say something. Anything. But when I opened my mouth, nothing came out. And I fell and then it was all black.

Since then I've been batty to him, to everyone. And they're right. I am batty. Ralph made me batty. He made me want things that I shouldn't. I reach out to touch him sometimes, and when I do, shivers go down my spine and I want to curl up into a ball and die because this cannot, should not, will not be real.

These are the sorts of things I think about in the dark of the night. I found a place in the forest where no one can find me. Where Jack's flames haven't burnt down the trees, and pigs still roam freely. And I go here whenever I feel wrong, like a jigsaw puzzle a littlun put together wrong, and after laying here for awhile, I feel right again.

Tonight, the stars are out. A milllion twinkling lights too far away to touch, but yet so close. The sky Venetian blue, darker than Ralph's eyes, but lighter than the black of most nights.

I hear a rustle in the trees behind me, breaking me out of my reverie. "Simon?" A voice floats out from them. And my heartbeat escalates, becoming a pounding in my ears. This is the voice of Ralph. Soft, deep, beautiful.

I choke out a "Ralph?"

"Yeah." He steps out of the shadows, eyes sparkling in the night. Perfectly illuminated in the moonlight. "I just didn't see you sleeping, and I got a bit worried."

"I'm just here."

"Yeah." I allow myself to look into his eyes. Deep pools of blue, the stars reflected in them. "This is a really nice place. How'd you find it?"

"I don't...I d-don't know." The words won't come out. I have to force them out of my throat. "I just come here whenever I'm feeling...wrong..."

Concern flickers across his face and decides to stay there. "Do you feel wrong right now?"

My heartbeat becomes even quicker. Yes. I feel wrong. I am so, so, wrong. This is all wrong. But I cannot lie to him. Ralph is the temptation in my veins, the flutter my heart does. He controls me. I say in a hoarse whisper, "Yes."

He moves closer to me. "What's wrong? You can tell me."

"I...I'm scared."

"Of what?"

I can see the concern in his eyes. I can't stop looking at him, he has transfixed me. "You. Me. Everything. Everyone."

"Why are you scared of me?" He moves even closer. I can't stand it any longer. "I wouldn't ever do anything to hurt you, you know. I promise." His hand is on my shoulder. Sweat appears on my forehead. I don't want him to let go.

I blurt out, "I shouldn't feel like this." Then I immediately turn red. Ralph looks at me, his perfect, beautiful, Adonis-like face covered with an emotion I can't place.

In a hushed murmur, he responds, "I'm scared, too." He looks straight into my eyes, seeing the strange, twisted thing that is my soul. He reaches out and pulls me closer to him, cupping my face in his hands. My eyes widen and my heartbeat goes from a thump to a throb. "I'll protect you from whatever you're scared of, Simon."

And then he leans in and our lips touch. Not just touch, more like smash. My heart is exploding. My blood is burning. Sparks are flying in my brain. His arms-those strong, tan arms that I've so often touched just to feel his skin-are around my neck and his hands are in my hair. I wrap my arms around his waist and I can't stop kissing him.

This is wrong. Boys love girls. Not other boys. But I banish that thought from my mind and focus on what's at hand. My breath is becoming short, but I don't want to let him go. Ralph is mine. I am Ralph's.

Finally, we let go. Panting, I stare at him. We have no words left. They were all taken away by that kiss. It was so wrong that it was right, so unwanted and out of place that I wanted more of it. I pant, "Ralph," but I can't finish the sentence. I instead respond by kissing him again, as though I'm afraid he'll slip away if I let him go. Why can't I stop? My mother explained to me the 'urges' I'd start having, but nothing as primal, as beautiful, as pure as this.

"This is all a dream," I whisper. "It has to be a dream."

"No, Simon." Ralph smiles. "It's all real. We're here. We're alive. This is happening now."


	4. Jack and Simon

**Author's Note: Alright, so the lovely Disenchanted lotf asked me about writing Jack/Simon, so here we are. Also, you should know that this is AU, because otherwise I will look like a complete moron. Everyone is alive, and everyone is relatively sane. Note the relatively.**

**Disclaimer: I am not William Golding. I do not own Lord of the Flies.**

_Four: Jack and Simon_

Jack was bored.

This wasn't a usual occurrence. There were thousands of things to entertain him on the island. Hunting was his favorite activity. He could never tire of it, the feeling of the chase, the feeling of watching the light go out of an animal's eyes. Killing was a guilty pleasure but had subsided into simply a normality.

But not today. Today, in place of the urge to hunt, there was…something else.

It had been two years since he'd even seen a girl, let alone thought of one. But now, he was thinking about them. Girls. He had rarely seen them much at school, but when he did, they often giggled and twirled their hair. Sometimes they'd look at him.

More often it would be Simon they'd look at, and they would whisper to each other, probably not about good things.

Jack felt a hole in his chest, like something had disappeared from his being. There were no girls. No giggling, hair-twirling, whispering girls, and he almost wished that there were. Sure, it had been fine for the first two years, but now there was something missing.

Jack had been warned about a sin called lust. One that devoured you and made you into a monster. But here there was no one to tell him that lust was wrong. And he felt it, oh, yes, he felt it.

Towards what? He didn't know. But definitely towards something. Towards anything.

He looked around, the heat of the sun forming beads of sweat on his forehead. The beach appeared to be bare, but if he squinted hard enough he could just make out a shadow-like figure by the trees. The figure was taking down fruit in a small, dark area overshadowed by a large tree.

Only one boy he knew had the natural ability to blend in and become one with his surroundings, to be a shadow within shadows. And that was Simon Drake. Small, frail, Simon Drake.

He pulled himself up from his sitting stance on the beach and began walking towards Simon. He just wanted to…try something. "Hey, Simon."

Simon turned around, fear in his eyes. Jack wasn't exactly nice to him most of the time, almost to the point of violence. Hearing him say something so casually sent chills down the smaller boy's spine. "H-hi…"

"Want some help with that?" Jack practically purred.

Simon wasn't sure what to say. His hands closed around the orange fruit he was holding, as though he was afraid that Jack would take it from him. Jack looked at him impatiently. "Well?"

"S-sure." He didn't think that it was a very good idea to refuse anything from Jack. Over the years, Jack had grown increasingly powerful, and he rarely even spoke to people like Simon, those who he deemed as almost less than human. Ralph, Simon, Piggy...It was a surprise that they weren't yet dead.

Jack, who was a bit taller than Simon, reached up and grabbed a branch of the tree. It split with a delightful crack sound and had several fruits on it. He passed it to Simon, who immediately stumbled under its weight.

A smile played across Jack's lips as he attempted to contort his face into an expression of kindness. "Too heavy?"

Simon, who was still trembling, stuttered, "N-...no..."

"No, really. I'll help." He took the branch from a terrified Simon, 'accidentally' brushing against him. He felt how the smaller boy was shaking and almost smirked, but caught himself. Simon stared at him, not sure what to say. "Where are you bringing these?"

"I was just, um, eating, um, alone," said Simon.

"Alright then." Jack set the branch down on the ground and sat down. "Mind if I join you?"

Simon's green eyes widened and he nodded, afraid of what might happen if he didn't. Jack noticed his discomfort and smiled wolfishly. "I don't bite. At least not hard."

The other boy didn't know how to respond. He bit into one of the fruits to avoid having to talk, juice running down his chin. The way Jack was watching him was really frightening him, something about the glazed over look in his eyes. As though he'd spent too long in the sun. "Are you alright?" he asked softly, momentarily pausing his eating.

"Yes, I am." His smile widened. "Are you?"

"Yeah."

Jack's smile turned into an almost wicked grin, and he grabbed Simon's shoulders, pulling him towards him, and practically smashed his lips into his face. Simon squirmed, terrified. Jack pulled away for a moment and whispered to him, "Relax. I'm just kissing you. Nothing else."

That, unfortunately, did not get Simon to relax. "If I scream, will anybody hear?"

Jack looked down at his feet. "I'm not trying to hurt you, Simon." For once, it wasn't really a lie. He was just bored. He wanted to feel something, even if it was nothing but lust brought on by two years of feeling almost nothing towards anybody except for hatred.

The calm in Jack's voice made Simon's nerves settle down a bit, but he still felt a slight shiver in his body. Jack didn't smile wolfishly this time, just tried to keep calm so as not to frighten away Simon. Jack reached forward and touched his lips to the shiverin boy's, gently this time. "Better?" It didn't send any chills down Simon's spine this time. He didn't move back or ask about screaming. Just sat there, slightly dumbstruck.

"Let's not tell any about this, alright?" Jack got up, smiled at Simon, and then turned around to walk down the beach and back to the camp.


	5. Jack and Roger

**Author's Note: I originally posted this on my Wattpad as a short story, and thought it would make for a good chapter of this. My Wattpad is holdenintherye if anyone wants to look at it.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Flies or anything associated with it. All credit for that goes to William Golding.**

_Five: Jack and Roger_

The remains of the island burned in the distance, making still audible crackling and hissing sounds. Or, perhaps that was Jack's imagination, perhaps he wanted to hear that he was still there among a throng of hunters ready to kill at his beck and call.

But he wasn't. He was standing over the edge of a ship, staring down at the water below. He didn't want to see the ruins of his island behind him. Because it was just that, _his _island. It'd been his kingdom, he'd, for once in his life, had power over something beyond comforts given to him by adults.

And now he was back in that world. The one that only gave him controlled amounts of power. It wouldn't satisfy him, never after what he'd experienced. He wasn't afraid to admit that he'd relished the feeling of Simon's writhing body being slowly crushed beneath his sticks. He'd felt a certain joy in killing, a joy that instead of being afraid and disgusted of like Ralph, he had fed and nurtured.

He was a murderer by nature. A chapter chorister and head boy, yes, but deep inside he longed for the feeling of blood on his hands. There was a combination of guilt and excitement in his gut whenever he'd killed. He smiled at the thought.

"Jack?" A voice pulled him out of his killing fantasies.

"Shove off." He glared off into the distance, not looking up at the speaker. He didn't feel like being bothered.

"It's Roger."

That made Jack relax a bit. Roger had been his best friend in the days before the island. He'd become something so much more, no, not in that way, as a right hand man. Roger would kill for Jack. He was a loyal follower and that had given Jack a sense of security far more powerful than that instigated by his parents.

"Oh," was all he could manage to say.

"I hate that they made us wear these damn clothes," said Roger, gesturing down at the makeshift uniforms that the Navy officers had attempted to get them to wear.

"Take them off, then," Jack said nonchalantly.

Roger touched his face where the paint had been what seemed like just moments ago. He'd been able to do things like kill back then. Now the officers had given him his medicine again. He'd wanted to stay free of it, to be able to be angry and supposedly evil and not just stick to a facade of quiet moodiness. His parents had considered him unfit for company because of this...problem, but Jack and the other hunters hadn't minded. Just one more reason to pick island society over real life. "They'll notice."

Jack noticed his friend's despondency and shrugged. "I hate it on here, too. Maybe we could jump off and swim back," he joked.

"I can barely swim."

"Neither can I."

"We could run away," suggested Roger. "Doubt that my parents would miss me much." This was how Roger usually spoke, in short sentences lacking pronouns. He wasn't a social person. Jack was really the only one who he could speak to that he actually enjoyed speaking to. Maurice wasn't terrible, either, though, he supposed.

"Mine probably'll just give me some big, stupid lectures and say they missed me. They probably didn't, you know parents, they try to make it seem like they actually want you in their home."

"Mine don't make that attempt."

There was a short silence. Roger's parents were a topic usually avoided in conversation, the boys preferred to talk about more positive things. "I know."

"You know, Roger, I'd help you run away, if you wanted," Jack said awkwardly, looking down at the water again. He could see several fish beneath the surface and wondered how it felt to be a fish. Fish were always prey, no matter how hard they tried, there was always something that could kill them.

Was that constant feeling of being hunted some primal instinct that humanity had escaped, and now suddenly Jack had unleashed it upon himself by becoming a hunter? After all, hunters didn't often stay hunters for very long.

Humanity weren't like fish. Nothing hunted them. This should have been a feeling of immense power, but knowing that one has overcome those hunting them is one even more powerful.

"Na. It was a stupid idea."

Jack changed the subject. "I want to hunt."

"Me too. I want to hunt so bad, it hurts."

"You could always hunt the girls," Jack said, attempting to make a joke.

Roger never blushed, but a bit of embarrassment flashed across his face. "Don't think I'll ever be able to stand girls, not after this."

Jack laughed at the embarrassment on his friend's face. But he had a point. Girls, with their frivolous talking and smart-aleck attitudes, wouldn't even be tolerable after this. "Neither will I."

"Suppose we've just got each other."

Neither of them were entirely sure what Roger meant by that, but there was a long silence where the only thing going through their minds was the pondering of this idea, that nobody else understood what they had seen, and that, although they were leaving the island in flames behind them, they would never, ever escape it.


	6. Ralph and Piggy

**Author's Note: Sorry, I haven't updated in awhile. I've been busy. But, yeah, anyways, Ralph/Piggy is more of a brotherly ship for me. And this ended up slightly Ralph/Simon. But enjoy anyways.**

**Disclaimer: Lord of the Flies is not mine.**

Piggy was terrible with people.

It wasn't that he didn't _like _them, he actually quite enjoyed people's company, but he just could never get them to stand his company. He wasn't entirely sure whether it was his looks, his personality, the way he talked...really, it could be anything, but whatever it was, everyone just hated him.

A voice in the back of his mind told him to just avoid them. So what if they hate you? Just leave them alone. But somehow Piggy could never bring himself to. Something in him just made him believe that there was someone out there who wouldn't look at him and see a walking bag of fat with asthma but a living, breathing person with emotions.

He'd thought that Ralph was that person. Ralph was tall and athletic and leaderly, everything that Piggy wasn't. Piggy was smart, smarter than Ralph, but no one noticed. He'd been the first person that Ralph spoke to on the island, and yet Ralph chose to speak with batty Simon and obnoxious Jack. He wasn't sure what he was doing wrong, he'd been nice to Ralph, he'd been far nicer to Ralph than he was to most people.

But somehow it wasn't enough. Whatever he did, he was still a fat bag of ass-mar who wasn't good for anything.

And now here they were, Ralph with his knees drawn up to his face and tears streaking his cheeks. He was crying for Simon, and suddenly Piggy knew it was wrong but he was jealous. Simon hadn't helped Ralph find the conch. Simon couldn't think of any ideas that might help them get off the island. Simon was just a silly little choir boy who didn't know how to speak in front of people.

But Ralph liked Simon. Sometimes Piggy thought that it was something more than that. But here was Ralph, sobbing, and Piggy felt a sort of envy rising in his chest. Ralph thought Simon was worth his tears. His auntie had said once, in an attempt to comfort him while he cried over his parents' deaths, that when you cry in someone's absence, it means you really love them and care for them. But he pushed that thought from his mind.

Death wasn't something he thought about a lot. His auntie had told him that life was a precious thing and he should enjoy it. But he didn't see much to enjoy here. His friend was broken and no matter how hard he tried to comfort him, he still insisted that it could have been avoided.

Deep down, Piggy knew that it could've. He saw Simon's flashing green eyes in the flurry of bodies, but then dismissed it as a hallucination. He knew that it was Simon, but part of him said good riddance. He wanted Ralph's attention for himself.

And now he felt a seed of guilt beginning to grow in his chest. Sure, he hadn't liked Simon, but he hadn't deserved to die like that. He could've done something.

But he had to convince Ralph that it wasn't his fault. Ralph didn't deserve to have something like that on his conscience. So he ignored the guilt blossoming inside him. He denied it. Simon was batty, he said. What was he thinking, running around on the beach like that.

It didn't comfort Ralph, though, it just made him angry. Eventually he just gave up. It hurt Piggy, to see Ralph bury his head in his hands and seem hopeless because no matter how hard he tried, Piggy couldn't fix that.

He was just jealous, in all honesty. At heart he just wanted attention. Attention that he was tired of vying for. Just once, he wanted Ralph to sincerely look at him and compliment him. Not even compliment him, just look at him and not be trying to lead him on or yelling at him for not being as good as Jack.

That was just his problem. He was good, but he wasn't _as _good. Ralph cared about him, he just didn't care enough.  
And it didn't really surprise Piggy, honestly. He wasn't like Jack, he couldn't hunt or run long distances. He wasn't even good-looking.

_God, why am I bringing looks into the matter? They aren't even important, right? _He wasn't particularly concerned with them, but a thought dawned on him.

What if he just thought they didn't matter because he didn't have them?

Ralph did, though. Piggy had had an embarrassing thought earlier, that Ralph looked like one of those statues found in art museums, with anatomy too perfect to be real.

He felt his face turn red as though he was having an attack of asthma at the thought of this. He wasn't...he didn't...boys were supposed to like girls, not other boys. Ralph was just different. An exception. And he _didn't _have a crush on him. Perhaps it was more like a...platonic crush. He just wanted to be friends. Just friends.

But at this point, he wasn't even sure whether Ralph wanted to be friends. Ralph was a stranger to him, and as sobs shook his companion's body, Piggy couldn't help but wonder if he'd cry like that if it was him lying as a bloody corpse in the ocean.

…**Well that was angst-filled. I've been feeling a bit angsty lately, so that's to be expected, I suppose.**


	7. Bill and Ralph

**Author's Note: I should just rename this story 'People Lust After Ralph.' Oh well. Nightkill thought up this pairing from somewhere in the darkness of her mind and I thought I'd take a shot at it.**

**Disclaimer: Lord of the Flies is not mine. At all.**

_Seven: Bill and Ralph_

Ralph wasn't like the other boys.

Ralph was _cool. _Ralph was a leader. Ralph was authoritative, but he knew when to stop. Something that Jack, his own supposed leader, lacked.

But there was one thing Ralph was missing. Ralph was unable to see this coolness in other people. He chose to talk to Simon and Piggy, Simon was just weird and Piggy was, well, Piggy. Fat and annoying.

And this frustrated Bill more than anything. He didn't think he was anywhere near as cool as Ralph, but he was at least close. Ralph should realize that.

Bill was a choirboy like any other, at first glance. He was blonde and rather short, with a few freckles on his face, and he was nowhere near as handsome as Ralph, but at least he was more attractive than Piggy. Or Jack. Everyone secretly thought Jack was ugly. It was the cool thing to think.

It'd taken a lot of planning, but Bill had finally decided that he was going to go talk to Ralph. The first hard part of that was getting Ralph alone.

Simon was always tagging along behind him, and when Simon wasn't, Piggy was bothering him about stupid ideas.  
"Hey, Ralph," Bill said, coming up behind him awkwardly.

Simon was sitting next to Ralph, and they seemed to be deep in conversation. "Oh, hullo." Ralph smiled a dumb, friendly smile. "Come sit down."

Simon looked slightly afraid. Bill looked awkwardly from Ralph to Simon. "Uh, could Simon leave?"

The boy in question looked a bit offended. Ralph gave him an apologetic pat on the shoulder. "I'll meet you back by the huts, Si."

Simon nodded and scurried off, taking one last glance at Bill, which was met with a glare. "So, hey. Who are you anyways? I've seen you around a bit but I never learned your name."

"I'm Bill."

"Short for William?"

He'd never been asked this question before. He wasn't prepared for this. "Uh..." He wasn't even sure he knew. "I don't know."

"Oh. Nice name, Bill."

"Thanks."

"I've got a rubbish name. Ralph is a stupid-sounding name."

"No, it's not. It's quite cool." Bill found himself able to form coherent sentences again. That was a relief.

"Thank you." Ralph grinned. He had a nice grin, all wide and cheerful. Innocent, almost.

"Why do you like Simon so much?" Bill just blurted it out. Because he couldn't understand why.

"He's cool. A little queer. But cool." He wasn't sure which meaning of the word 'queer' he was implying.

"Oh. He seems alright," Bill lied. He didn't want to make Ralph angry now that they were having a somewhat coherent conversation. He liked this.

"Yeah. So. Why'd you want to talk to me? You seemed to have some sort of intention."

"Well...I just..." There went his full sentences.

"You just what?" Ralph prompted.

Bill hesitated, then thought of the first thing that came to mind. "Well, see, there used to be this girl from a neighboring school. She had really nice legs and nice hair and was smart and funny and I used to see her around a lot, but she had this little group of friends always hanging around her and I didn't know how to talk to her. Her name was...Rose. I was just thinking about her, and you seem to be really educated about stuff like that, and I was just going to ask..."

Ralph cut him off. "Well. I think you should talk to her. Even if she's with her friends, girls really like it when people say the first thing. You don't even have to say you like her. Just make conversation."

"I've made a little bit of small talk..."

"Well, that's good. But then you should tell her if you like her. Girls really enjoy that. Rose will appreciate your honesty."

Bill blushed. "Thanks, Ralph. I'll think about that."

"Glad to be of help, mate. Maybe I'll see you around if you're not busy hunting?"

"Wait...Ralph..."

"What?"

Bill took a deep breath. "See...I just made up Rose. I don't know anybody named Rose. The person I like is...well..." He wasn't sounding cool. He was just sounding dumb. "You."

Ralph looked slightly stunned. There was more than a moment of silence, the only noise was the wind and the waves breaking on the beach and the rustling of palm fronds.

"Really?" Ralph's stunned face broke into a smile.

"Yeah."

Ralph knelt in front of Bill and pulled him into a kiss. It was a small kiss, it didn't last long and it was merely their lips touching briefly, but it was definitely a kiss.

"I don't want to lead you on, but I think you really needed that," Ralph whispered into Bill's ear. Bill's face was red and he was breathless and the world was spinning.

"U-uh...thanks..."

Ralph looked around and grabbed Bill for one more kiss. This one was harder and lasted longer. Bill thought about what Ralph had just said. _I don't want to lead you on._

Well, if this wasn't leading him on, then he didn't know what was.

Ralph broke away from him. "Did you like that?" he said almost teasingly.

"Yep." He tried to look cool again, brushing a bit of hair away from his eyes and smirking. He hoped it made his blushing face less noticeable.

"I don't really feel that way, Bill, but I felt like you wanted that. I'm chief, I ought to help people get what they want. And I like kisses." Ralph smiled and got up to leave.

"Wait."

"What?"

"Thanks, Ralph. I did need that."

It was just a little crush. Not anything that could tear him apart inside like being in love, but it was definitely there. And Ralph had made it grow.

"Oh, well, you're welcome." Ralph flashed him one last dazzling smile and walked off to go meet Simon by the makeshift huts.

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**I'm not even sure what I did there. But, anyways, I'm running out of ideas for these, if any of you have pairings you'd like to see me write I'd be happy to take requests ^^**


	8. Maurice and Simon

**Author's Note: Okay, I am really, really sorry about the fact that this hasn't been updated since like two months ago. I've been mostly writing for a different fandom lately, if you've been following me you probably have seen that I've written about ten Long Walk fanfics. But I am really, really sorry, and I've resolved to finish this. This chapter is total crap and I apologize. Damn, I'm rambling now. More at the end. LustForTheLetters requested Maurice/Simon, so here we are.**

**Disclaimer: Lord of the Flies does not belong to me.**

_Eight: Maurice and Simon_

It's the middle of the day, and Simon is talking with a savage. He doesn't know why, but the painted boy is staring unhappily down at his feet, which are half-submerged in the golden sand of the island.

"Are you alright?"

The boy looks up at Simon. "Oh. Hi. I'm fine." He notices that it's Maurice, recognizable by his feathery light brown hair and blue eyes. But he doesn't look like Maurice, in some ways. Maurice is always smiling, and Simon doesn't understand it or believe in it.

He knows that being happy is important, but he's never thought of it as a state that one can always be in. You've got to be sad _sometime, _don't you? Otherwise, you just...that's not possible. Always being happy surely isn't healthy.

So that's why Simon doesn't believe Maurice when he says he's fine. "But, you seem..." He chooses his words carefully. "Upset." Simon gives him the pleading green eyes that usually get the truth out of Ralph.

"I'm fine, Simon. Honest."

"Are you sure?"

"Why wouldn't I be sure? It's my feelings, after all." Maurice lets out a light, awkward laugh. It sounds forced, and Simon scoots closer to him.

"What are you sad about?"

"Nothing, I swear!" Maurice gives him a reassuring smile. "It's nice that you're concerned, though."

That satisfies Simon, somewhat. "Thank you. But you still seem a bit upset."

"Seeming is different from being, y'know."

"I know. But I can feel it, I suppose." Simon blushes. That probably sounded really stupid.

"That's poetic. You're a pretty poetic guy, Simon. Ever tried writing poetry?" Maurice was obviously trying to steer the topic away from his feelings, and Simon supposed he didn't mind. Maybe it would take Maurice's mind off of whatever it was that was upsetting him.

"No, have you?"

"Yeah, once. Mine were all stupid and sappy. I bet you'd be really great. Have you read any poetry before?"

Simon looked down at his feet. Back at school, he recalled an incident when someone had grabbed his Robert Frost and torn it in two. He shivered at the memory, but replied, "Yes. I like Robert Frost a lot. He's very...natural. I like the way his words flow."

"Why do you look so embarrassed? It's not something to be embarrassed about."

"Oh, well..."

"Did people used to tease you?" Simon nodded. "Roger always teases me about liking books, but he won't admit that he likes them too. The morbid ones, at least."

That made Simon remember the original topic of their conversation. "Is Roger making you upset?"

"No, we're friends, why would he make me upset?"

"You always get...jumpy, around him, I suppose. I don't know how to explain it. Roger terrifies me."

Maurice shrugged. "He's nice enough, if y'get to know him after awhile."

Simon isn't sure if he believes him, but he nods anyways. "But friends can make each other upset. I know."

Maurice smiles sadly. "Man, you're really sweet. Did you know that?"

"How do you mean?"

"You care so much about everybody else. I don't really get how, but it's really sweet." Simon's expression is a slightly puzzled one, and Maurice sighs. "Yeah, I'm not good with expressing feelings."

"No, no, I understand." Simon smiles, trying to signal to Maurice that he gets it and he doesn't want him to worry about expressing himself. Simon has never understood that, if you want to say something, you should just say it, shouldn't you?  
But then again, he supposed that he was being a bit hypocritical by saying that. After all, he's afraid of almost everyone's opinion. He isn't even sure why he even bothers with all of them, he's been told time and time again that being nice to people who hate you isn't worth it.

But yet he still does it. Maurice breaks him out of his train of thought by saying, "Well, good, I guess."

Simon sighs and looks down at his feet. "I'm better at understanding other people than I am at understand myself."

"That's not that much of a bad thing."

"I don't know...I just feel like...I should know myself better."

Maurice looks awkwardly away and Simon looks down miserably, wondering if he's just ruined their conversation. "Why are you telling me all of this? This seems like stuff you'd...I don't know, write down or something."

"You listen well," is the best explanation Simon can come up with.

"Yeah? That's good to know, I suppose."

"I'll listen, if you have anything you'd like to say." Simon laughs somewhat uncomfortably, thinking that he just spilled his guts to Maurice, the least he can do is return the action. Talking to people is something he's grown accustomed to doing, but having them actually _listen _is rare.

"Nah, I just...I feel like I'm naive or something, you know? And Jack, you know how he is, but I'm jealous of him. I hate to admit it, but he's taken my best friend and made him some sort of second in command."

"Roger?"

"Yeah, I know it's daft of me, but I feel...wrong, about this whole thing."

"Come join me n' Ralph. We think it's wrong, too."

"I don't want to leave Roger, though, we're friends." Maurice stares up at the sky, which is bright with the midday sun. "Can you keep a secret?"

"I barely speak most of the time, I'm the best at keeping secrets."

Maurice laughs. "Well, I'm sort of...afraid. If you get what I mean. It's not natural, what we're doing. I don't want to burn and hunt and kill, it doesn't seem right.

"I understand. Join me and Ralph and Samneric, Maurice."

"Maurice?" A voice that probably belongs to Roger causes Maurice to almost jump. "Maurice, where've you been for the last hour?"

"Just here."

Roger looks from Maurice to Simon, and glares down at the small, dark boy. "What're you doing here, Simon? Get away."

"Nah, Rog, we were just talking. He's leaving right now." Maurice pushes Simon, probably a signal to get him to leave.

"Good." Simon scurries away, and Maurice looks at Roger and wonders just how angry his friend would be with him if he knew what he and Simon were talking about.

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**Meh, I don't feel too great about that. But anyways, I want to make this ten chapters because that's a nice number, so I'm going to write a Jack/Ralph next because I feel obligated even though I hate that ship, and if anyone has a pairing to suggest for the last chapter that'd be nice? But yeah, once again, I'm really sorry for not updating this. i talk too much goodbye**


	9. Jack and Ralph

** Well, I'm really terrible at writing Jalph so this didn't end up as much of a pairing chapter, more of a Jack character study because I really love him. But yeah, without further ado.**

**disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me.**

* * *

_Eight: Jack and Ralph_

You're ugly.

You're a lot of things, you're charismatic, you're cunning, but most of all, you're just so _ugly._ Honestly, you just wish you could rip every strand of fiery red hair from your head and wash every freckle away, turn your eyes into colorless slits and become nothing at all.

But this is the next best thing. You cover your face with black and red and white paint and hide behind it. You're not Jack Merridew, head boy, anymore.

You're the shrieks in the night and the crash of the waves upon the shore, the trickle of blood running down the skin of a pig. Jack Merridew was a good boy, a bit bad-tempered but a good boy. You're not like that anymore. You're dark and angry and ugly.

But not as ugly as before. Everybody's ugly, here, nobody's hands are clean so they'd all given up on cleaning things up.

Except for one person.

One boy still dreams of bathing and crisp uniforms and walking in straight lines. He's always trying to get the dirt out from under his nails and ruffling his hair to try to get it to look like more than a tattered rag of what was once hours of combing and brushing.

And you think he's stupid. He's horrible and naive and so_ stupid._ But he's got one thing you don't, one thing you claw at in the dark and it slips through your fingers like unattainable grains of sand.

Ralph is_ beautiful._

Beauty isn't something that you can hunt or kill, no matter how many times you stab at it with your spear. It isn't in the blood of your kills staining the island flowers, you can't find it in the face paint that you help to smear on Roger's face.

Beauty is something only Ralph knows how to obtain, and you hate him for that. You want to hunt him down and pin him to the ground and snarl into his ear all of year tribulations and how long you scratched at your skin trying to find beauty underneath the flesh. You want to tell him how terrible he is. How he takes it all for granted, he just walks by like anybody else and bows his head modestly when he's complimented.

You want to shake him and scream to his stupid, beautiful face that he should be proud of it and he should flaunt it everywhere he goes because he's lucky enough to have it and god, Ralph is stupid.

He may be beautiful, but he's an idiot. He thinks peace is the way to go, that he can take a stupid shell and somehow fix everything that's broken. Piggy, too. And Simon. Oh, how you hate Piggy and Simon. Or hated, in the case of Simon.

Piggy is uglier than you, if that's possible. He's fat and disgusting and lives up to his nickname. And yet Ralph is always there for him, always helping him out and growing to befriend him.

Simon is a different matter. Simon was delicate and beautiful and quiet and so goddamn perfect. You didn't admire him, you hated the way Ralph doted on him and how they would always walk together and work together and why were they so together?

You want to be the one Ralph trusts, the one he goes to when he's crying, because you may be ugly but you're certainly better than Piggy and Simon and whatever silence he chooses to keep company with when he's not with them.

You've got Roger, it's true. Roger would do whatever you asked in a heartbeat, whether it be murder or thievery or lying. Roger's your right hand man, ready to tear down the world for you if need be.

Roger doesn't talk much, but you can see what he's saying in his dark, angry eyes and the way he twists his spear into the ground when silently staring off into space.

But Roger isn't Ralph. Roger isn't beautiful, although he's serene, in a sadistic, horrible way. Roger isn't fascinating, perhaps because he's so obedient. He's so ready to do what you ask that you don't question him.

But Ralph. Ralph is horrid and never does anything you say, because you're opposing chiefs and you should want to kill him. But you just want to pin him down and examine him, look at every little stupid detail of him and then kill him.

And if you did do it, it'd be cleanly. Because you don't want to ruin Ralph. Not at all. You just want him gone, so you won't have to worry about him anymore.

When you're awake at night in your hut, Roger sleeping peacefully next to you, sometimes you think about what it might be like to kill Ralph. To watch the light go out of those _stupid_ brown eyes with their_ stupid_ long lashes and_ stupid_ rich color. It might be satisfying.

Like stepping on a flower and crushing the many-pigmented petals beneath the sole of your boot. It's always more satisfying to kill something beautiful, you think. It's satisfying, and then it's heartbreaking.

You've rid the world of something beautiful, but it was you who did it and you're powerful and that's why killing beautiful things is something that makes you feel better about everything. It's like turning the lights off for everyone and then crushing lanterns that shine in your shadow-adjusted eyes and make them burn.

That's a good metaphor for Ralph. A light that burns in your eyes because you're so adjusted to the darkness. The darkness is your cover, your stupid, ugly features are unseen within it. Ralph can only be in the light because he isn't someone like you.

You've given up on ever trying to be anything like Ralph would want you to be. You're Jack Merridew. You're chief of the savages-ha, wasn't that what you once said you weren't? Well, you are precisely that now. Savages with sticks and face paint. Once upon a time you were good little boys with stockings and caps who knew their ABCs and could recite things in Latin, but now you only kill about who gets first blood.

You used to want to scream because you were head boy, you were _most important_, you had to be _above everybody else_ otherwise you were just Jack Merridew again and that was no good, no good at all.

But you can scream here, scream all you want because no one will listen and no one will care about your feelings and you like that because there are no expectations and no rules unless you say there are and you're_ in control. _

So you forget Ralph and go up to join Roger on the rocky outcrop over the island, and you let out a wild, insane scream.

And nobody chastises you for it. Roger joins in, his lower tone mixing with your high one, and you may be ugly but you're chief and you can do anything.

* * *

i don't know how i feel about this.


End file.
